


Everett Chronicles

by MortalGlare



Series: Everett Chronicles [1]
Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:57:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8514262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalGlare/pseuds/MortalGlare
Summary: These will be a series of short pieces about or related to my character Damon Everett, this is an ongoing series and should hopefully be updated regularly.





	

I heard the doors creak open from the other end of the hall but first assumed that it was just the wind. It was a rare event to have a visitor in a dusty, old place like this. At first glance this place wasn’t much to look at with piles of books, old newspapers and thousands of sheaves of paper. It has taken me almost three years to build this collection, at the time I thought that someone should record the history of the old world; so it might as well be me.  
This library has been the one thing keeping me going through the bandit ridden, criminal driven new world. I was left mostly alone as I had nothing of any real value. However this time the doors were opened by another human, although he certainly didn’t look like the kind of person who would be interested in a place like this. He strolled leisurely in coating my recently cleaned floor with mud. The guy was dressed in shades of black and brown, helps to stay out of sight I guess. He had a scarf across his nose and mouth and was wearing a pair of welder’s goggles. The one noticeable feature about him was a streak of livid purple running through his hair. There was a large rucksack on his back which looked full to bursting but of what I couldn’t see.  
“Good morning traveller” I called out “How can I help you?”  
“I’m looking to trade.” He replied pleasantly. “I hear that you have an interest in old books.”  
Thank goodness, once you’ve been around for a while you begin to expect that everyone is out to kill you and take anything valuable that’s not nailed down. Well then, let me see what you have and I’m sure we can come to an agreement.” I replied eagerly, it wasn’t often I got to have such interactions and I was excited by the prospect of new material.  
He walked over to the empty desk that I had been sitting at and ungraciously emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. While he clearly didn’t realise it, this was a treasure trove of new information, much of which I had not seen before.  
“So” I asked warily. “What are you looking to trade for them, I’m afraid that the only things I have here of value are other books.”  
“All of these books were just weighing me down but I had heard that you would be interested, all I want is a few nights sleep, some food and a little entertainment.” The man replied wearily.  
“What kind of entertainment would that be exactly?” These wasteland types often had cruel and unusual senses of humour.  
“Well this is a library right? A good story will do nicely.” He chuckles.  
“I’m sure I can.” I sighed. It was to be expected from the likes of these scavenger folk, they come to a place of knowledge and learning and all they want to hear is fiction.  
As the heavy, humid afternoon became a much cooler evening the odd duo that we were sat out in the courtyard in the centre of the building. My new friend sat smoking on an old lawn chair that I had found while I roasted some stunted vegetables that mi had managed to cultivate from the poor irradiated soil.  
“So,” he said. “This story, have you decided on one?”  
“I have,” I replied affirmatively, “although you won’t find this one written down in any books.”  
“Oh yea? Well you certainly have my interest now.” He sat up straight and leaned forward. I’m not sure whether it was to hear the story better or for the warmth of the fire.  
“In a place not so far from here and about thirty years ago there was a house. This house was small, unassuming and very much like the other houses on the street. As the old saying goes ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’ Behind that dull, innocent image there were dark and troubling thoughts brewing and plans being made behind those red brick walls.  
After the events of the ‘Six Hour War’ there was very little left of the world that people once knew and what remained disregarded the idea of law, morality or kindness to your neighbour. This street however was different, it had once been part of a much larger city but this was all that remained, the street and a single large house at the end of the street belonging to a man known only as ‘The Sheriff.’ I use the title of sheriff lightly, he was more of a dictator than a protector the reason for being that before the war he had been a wealthy man with a large bunker to protect him and his resources when the fighting began.  
When people emerged into this new world the ones with food and weapons were the ones with power. So it was the lesser of two evils that the inhabitants of the street chose, live under the iron fist of The Sheriff in this new world or go out and die in the old one. It hadn’t been a difficult decision. Our story picks up five years after the war and things have started to settle down, in the past six months there had been only two attempted raids both of which were easily crushed by The Sheriffs loyal followers and private army.  
Unfortunately, when people no longer feel threatened and have no need to protect what little they have people are quick to turn their gaze outward to other things. Jealousy is the most corruptive and destructive of emotions and now that people felt safe they looked up to The Sheriffs house with great envy. Why should one man alone have so much while they had so little?  
In one house in particular, slightly distant from the rest as the houses around it had crumbled to dust and rubble, meetings were had and plans were made which spelled trouble for The Sheriff in the coming days. Were you by chance to find yourself inside that house on one fateful night you would have heard some quite disturbing news.  
“Then all we need is that final piece of the plan. The merchant comes through once a month or so and it can’t be more than a week before he comes by again. Once we have that we can set the plan in motion!”  
“Calm yourself Jonathan, we do not even know that he will have what we are looking for. Do not get your hopes up only to have this ruin our well laid plans.” Came the calm and level reply.  
“I’m sorry Brother Septimus but are you not excited too? We have waited for this time for so long!” John exclaims, in a childlike enthusiasm.  
“It is of course Jon but one false step now could mean the end of us. We must ensure that we are careful now that we have come so far, even more than before.” Explained Septimus as he often had to do. It seemed at times that he was the only one amongst them who really took the matter seriously. There was a general muttering of agreement around the room from the four other members of this clandestine gathering.  
“It is settled then, Roland you will talk to the merchant and get us what we need and we shall reconvene once that has happened.” Septimus stated decisively. Clearly it was he that led this odd group.  
After three days of immensely stressful waiting the merchant arrived. That evening when most people had come out to look at and browse his wares and returned home, Roland went out to where he set up his stall outside of town.  
“Ah hello Roland, what can I do for you this time?”  
This little settlement had become a favourite of the merchants, they didn’t get many visitor to The Street and so passers-by were treated graciously by most and a kindness that come to the only man who could provide the people with what they needed.  
“I’m looking for something special this time Desmond. Do you remember the item we spoke of? The time is right and it is time to set things in motion.” Roland whispered suggestively.  
“Aye Roland, I have just the item you’re looking for.” Desmond replied with a sense of understanding.  
“Here you go”  
Desmond handed Roland a brown paper package wrapped with extreme caution.  
“Thank you Desmond, we are in your debt.” Then he hurried off home, keeping to the shadows.  
The next day the group met again at the house ready to execute their plan.  
“We wait for nightfall and then we move, it will provide us with the best possible chance of success.” Ordered Septimus.  
Once again there was a general muttering of agreement, at this stage the men were far too anxious and excited to say much more. When night came and the street fell into darkness they began. Over the last three weeks they had scouted out the perfect path to the house on the hill, a path which allowed them to remain hidden from the bright sweeping lights and guards on the walls surrounding the house.  
“Alright everyone, this is it, hold on.” With that Jack placed the now uncovered block of C4 on the wall and set the timer for thirty seconds.  
“Everyone get back! You don’t want to get caught in this.” He hissed at the group and they withdrew to a safe distance until the bomb went off. Before the guards could react the group had rushed into the grounds and made their way toward the house. They reached the edge of the house and one of the men moved to the large doors and began to attempt to pick the lock.  
“Quickly, quickly! We don’t have long!” urged Septimus. “They’ll find us here any moment we must hurry.”  
It was at that moment that the holographic face of The Sheriff appeared on the door.  
“Sorry lads, I can’t have anyone getting their grubby hands on what’s in here and seeing as I’m not home and my guards won’t get here in time I’m going to have to take some rather drastic action.”  
His face disappeared and a small counter appeared on the door.  
Five…Four…Three…Two…One…

I yawned and stretched in my chair realising that night had descended on us.  
“Well I think that we should call it a night there don’t you think?” I asked.  
“What!” my companion roared. “You can’t just leave it like that, you have to tell me what happened!”  
“if you want another story, then you had better go and find me more books.”


End file.
